A/N: At World's End! This chapter is a bit of a filler but I was writing it pretty much completely unscripted so that was an interesting experience :) I can't wait to have you see Violet and Cutler Beckett meet once again- her desire for revenge will be a huge motivator for her decisions in the this movie. As always, I love you all and thank you for your kind reviews and for just reading- you make me so happy!

Until Chapter 20! -Ev

Elizabeth Swann was lost.

Not physically, of course, but she might as well have been as she drifted down an aimless Singapore river, a large hat obscuring her face.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about Violet since she'd watched the Pearl go down. In her mind, her friend was torn to pieces again and again, drowned over and over until Elizabeth couldn't handle it anymore.

It had been her fault. She'd practically begged Violet to kill Jack, which had been bad enough on its own, but then Violet had ended up going down with him. And for that, Elizabeth would never forgive herself.

"The bell has been raised from its watery grave…" Elizabeth sang quietly, her words swallowed up by the foggy Singapore night. Even when she'd seen Barbossa that night, brought alive by some sort of witchcraft, she hadn't been shocked. All she could think of was Violet, pressing the cold metal handcuffs into her palm.

He might even die for you.

And what was she doing now? Will was gone- sent off to steal some of the maps they'd need for their journey ahead, and she had the sinking feeling that he too was in danger. And she was off to face yet another dread pirate lord with nothing but a flimsy plan and a shred of hope. It was bound to go wrong. These things always did.

"Hear its sepulchral tone…" Elizabeth paddled slowly, seeing her destination a ways in front of her. All of this dangerous, all of this wrong- all of it something that the old Elizabeth would- could only dream of doing. And yet here she was, befriending pirates and heading off on a quest that could only end in disaster.

But she would do all of it to save Violet and Jack, no matter what happened. This burden was on her shoulders now, and she would gladly bear it if it meant she could see her fellow pirates again.

Because she was a pirate herself now. There was no doubt of that.

Violet Charles was fairly certain she had landed herself in hell.

It wasn't really what one might picture hell to be, all burning flames and horns and the bloody devil himself popping out of every corner.

No, this was far worse than that. A massive expanse of salty sand and a cloudless sky and, worst of all, not a single drop of rum in sight.

Entirely spent, Violet lay on said sand, staring up at the empty sky above her. It was completely void of anything, rain or clouds or even a sun, for heaven's sake. She'd been here for what felt like years, just walking around aimlessly on the barren desert.

So this was Davy Jones' Locker, then. She had to say, he'd done a brilliant job with his torture tactics. She couldn't think of anything worse than being forced to spend eternity in a completely silent, empty space, with only her thoughts to haunt her.

And damn, did they enjoy haunting her.

She had to have replayed her death about a thousand times in her mind by now. It felt so distant, like a memory someone else had lived a lifetime ago. But then again, it had been another lifetime, hadn't it.

It was strange to think of herself as dead. She wasn't entirely sure if she was, really. She'd heard stories about the locker: a dismal place where souls who died at sea were trapped, a form of purgatory where said souls were never allowed to pass to the afterlife.

So she wasn't entirely sure whether she was dead or alive. And she wasn't quite sure which she'd prefer.

When she wasn't replaying the memory of being torn limb from limb by the Kraken or crying over the lack of rum, she was thinking of him. Of Jack. Of the way he held her in his arms and kissed her, of the way he'd told her he loved her. And the way she'd said it back.

She needed him, really. There was no other way to say it. And although Violet willed herself to hear his voice in her head, to remember every detail of his face, she could feel the memories slipping, and she wasn't sure how much longer she was going to last in Davy Jones' hell.

Jack Sparrow had met his match.

This locker would be the end of him. How was he supposed to survive when he was being bombarded by pitiful hallucinations that wouldn't stop babbling at him?

She was the worst of them.

He had no concept of time here, not really, and so when he wasn't yelling at the useless versions of himself that had decided upon crewing his ship or lying on the deck and trying to keep from crying at the lack of rum, he would see her.

Violet would be sitting on the railing, or leaning against the mast, a familiar smirk on her face. Sometimes she'd just watch him, analyzing him. She'd never speak until he talked to her first, which was infuriating because his Violet was never so submissive. His Violet talked whenever she pleased, which was pretty much all the damn time. And Jack loved it.

When he'd first seen her, the very first time, he'd thought it really was her, the two of them having been smiled upon by some god, fortunate enough to spend eternity together. But then she'd smiled at him, and he'd nearly stopped cold. His Violet would never smile like that, all sickeningly sweet and simpering. He'd run the hallucination through with a sword. It had nearly killed him.

Either way, here she was again, sitting cross-legged on the deck across from where he was sprawled out, staring up at the empty sky.

"Go away," he said, not even bothering to look at her. "You're a pitiful recreation, really. The nose is all wrong."

"I don't appreciate that, Jack," Fake Violet said. "You always seem to look on the dark side of things."

"Well then, perhaps you'd like to tell me what exactly the bright side of sitting alone in hell with only you for company might possibly be." He sat up now, staring at the hallucination. She looked real. That was how he got you. Davy Jones, or whoever else was controlling this waking nightmare he was now trapped in.

"You have me for company," Fake Violet said simply, shrugging. "I'd say that's more than enough."

"Yes, darling, but I'm afraid you're missing the point." Jack narrowed his eyes, trying to find a crack in the halluciation, some sort of chink in her seemingly perfect compostion.

"And what's that?" Fake Violet stood up and leaned against the mast, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. Jack wanted to cut her hand off. His Violet would never do that.

"It's that you're nothing more than a figment of Jones' twisted imagination. You're not real," Jack said, lying his head back down on the deck of the ship. "I should know. My Violet is in love with me."

"Is she?" Fake Violet said, raising an eyebrow. "I think a couple of days in the locker might straighten out that particular lapse in judgement."

Jack jumped to his feet as quickly as he could, pulling his pistol out of its holster before the hallucination could even blink.

"How dare you, you slimy little-"

"Oh, don't start with me, Jack. You know, people say strange things in the wake of death." Fake Violet didn't even flinch as Jack raised the barrel of the gun towards her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if dearest Violet was merely a bit confused. You were always throwing yourself at her, anyway."

Jack's hand shook, his finger bumping dangerously up against the trigger. To hear the words come out of Violet's own mouth made his blood boil. "She died with me."

"Oh, don't be so selfish, Jack." Fake Violet crossed her arms, her awful smile deepening. "Her dying didn't have anything to do with you. In fact, I'd put a large sum on the fact that it was Elizabeth the girl was trying to protect. She just had to get you out of the-"

Bang.

Jack brought the smoking gun back down to his side, watching the hallucination fade into thin air, a sickly smile still on its face.

His Violet loved him. She did. And so one way or another, he was getting out of this blasted locker, once and for all.

It took a month - or maybe it was only a day, Violet really had no way to tell - for something to happen.

She had been digging at the sand for at least an hour, her fingernails chipped and red. She'd found that it was one of the only things that kept her sane - assigning herself a task and carrying it out. So far, her hole was deep enough for her to sit in, and she had to lean her whole torso over the edge to reach the bottom.

Half-submerged in the hole, Violet hadn't noticed what was different until she felt something ruffle the shirt against her back, sending a cold burst of air against her skin. Immediately, she sat up, sending sand flying in all directions.

"What the hell-" she began, scrabbling out of the hole until she was kneeling on the sand, extending a hand to the sky. "Damn it," she groaned when she realized that it hadn't been wind she had felt. What she would give to feel a shift in the air. She was about to return to her hole when suddenly, inexplicably, the ground beneath her began to shake.

It was a quiver at first, barely a whisper, and as Violet began to get to her feet, it grew until it was a full-blown shaking, and she froze. This was it. She was about to be swallowed by the earth and sent down below to the real hell. This must have just been a holding cell, and now she was about to face her judgement. And unfortunately, Violet wasn't entirely sure she would pass. She fell to her knees, raising her hands to the sky. She had never begged for anything in her life, but what the hell. She wasn't alive anymore, so what did it matter?

"Dearest Mr. Jones, I am begging you!" She clasped her hands like she was praying, shaking them vigorously at the sky. "Please don't send me down there! Please!"

The ground continued shaking, harder this time, and Violet began to grow frantic, her tone growing more serious. If she was sent to the burning flames of hell that she had first envisioned, she wasn't sure she would survive. Ever since her time with Cutler Beckett, Violet hadn't been entirely fond of fire, and she was even less fond of the notion of hell.

"Please, Jones! You've got to help me! I know I haven't been the best person - not even one of the good ones, really - but I promise not to make any more trouble. I'll stop cursing at you! I'll even stop digging! I'll do anything, please just-"

"Oh come on, love, why would you ask Jones for anything when you've got me to save you?"

A loud voice echoed from above her, and Violet jumped up from the ground, eyes wide at the huge shape that was approaching her. Who the-

Suddenly, her vision focused, and she saw that she was being approached by- a ship. With a man standing on its mast. And not just any man. Her heart nearly exploded with joy as she saw the familiar silhouette, and Violet began to run towards the ship.

"Jack!" she screamed, her voice hoarse from so many days of not using it. "Jack!"

The silhouette began to climb down from the mast and onto the deck, and it was then that Violet noticed that the ship was being pulled across the sand by little rocks. Deciding it was better not to question it, she sprinted towards the side of the ship and grabbed onto the side of it, fingernails digging into the wood. With a groan, she hoisted herself up onto the deck with as much strength as she could muster, her heart beating faster than she ever thought was possible.

She didn't even look at her surroundings before crashing into Jack, who had just found his way to the deck, burying her face in his shoulder. She'd missed him more than she'd ever care to admit.

"Praying to Davy Jones now, are we?" Jack said with a laugh, and she grinned at him, pulling back to stare at his face.

"Oh, shut up," she said quietly, memorizing his features. She wouldn't lose him again. Suddenly, a thought crossed her mind, and she pushed him away. "Oh, damn it, Jones, this is just a hallucination, isn't it? A test of some kind?"

"Don't be ridiculous, love," Jack said, folding his arms in mock hurt. "I'm far too beautiful to be a hallucination, wouldn't you agree?"

"Jack, you don't understand, when I was alone-" Violet barely noticed herself shaking, the weight of so many solitary hours of torment crashing down on her. Slowly, Jack moved to wrap his arms around her, but she put out a hand. "Please, just- let me make sure."

"I understand, love," Jack said quietly, stepping back. "I had my fair share of demons to wrestle meself."

"Let's see…" Violet folded her arms, mind racing. "Who's your favorite pirate captain?" Jack looked taken-aback at the words, a smile creeping up on his face.

"Well, I'm sure you'd want me to say you, love, but unfortunately, there's only one captain who has it all: good looks, swagger, and a brilliant mind." Jack stepped closer to her, smirking. "And that, my dearest, would have to be the ever-so-handsome Captain Jack Sparrow."

Violet grinned, grabbing the front of his jacket.

"That's the Jack I know," she said, pulling him down towards her, and she kissed him, all of the memories that had slipped from her fingers rushing back to her. This was her Jack. Apparently not even death could keep the two of them apart. After a few minutes she pulled back, brow furrowed. "But how did you get here? And the Pearl-"

"Was marooned alongside me in the locker, for who-knows-why." Jack put a hand against the mast of his ship. "As for how, your guess is as good as mine. One minute I'm reprimanding my imbecilic crew and the next there's these little rock buggers pulling me ship along."

"Your crew?" Violet asked warily, shaking her head. She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"You're the one who fell for me, captain," Jack said with a gold-toothed grin. "I never said I was sane."

Turning away from him and rolling her eyes, Violet watched as the Pearl crested a huge dune of sand, and it was then that she saw it. Water. The ocean, laid out in all its glory, all sparkling ripples and rolling waves and at its edge- people?

"Who is that?" Violet asked, leaning over the railing of the ship to get a better look as the Pearl careened into the water.

"Is that-" Jack ran up beside her, the two of them peering over the side of the boat.

"It's the crew!" Violet said breathlessly, the faces becoming clear as the Pearl reached the water. "It's Elizabeth! Oh, and Will, and-" She stopped when she saw a tall man wearing a large hat, a scraggly beard growing on his chin. "Barbossa?"

"That son of a-" Jack leaned forward so sharply that he knocked into Violet's back with enough force to send her toppling over the side of the boat, and she crashed into the water, swearing all the way down. Hastily, Jack jumped over with her, a terrified look on his face. She was going to kill him.

Violet emerged from the water soaking wet, and she glared at Jack as he came up beside her, a sheepish grin on his face. "I'm going to kill you, Jack Sparrow," she hissed, and Jack raised his hands.

"Please, Charles, have mercy," he said, grinning at her, his gold teeth sparkling in the sunlight, and she narrowed her eyes.

"I don't think I will," she said, folding her arms and fighting to keep the grin off her face. But how could she be angry, when she was free- finally, free -from the depths of that cursed locker?

And yet, despite her happiness as the crew ran towards them, one face was cemented in the forefront of her mind, for all those hours of her confinement had only brought her one thing- memories. And she hadn't been able to shake them: not when she kept hearing the ringing of her screams in her ears and the hiss of the fire as the metal left its grasp.

She was going to have to kill him. If she didn't, she would never get past it. And so, as she ran towards Elizabeth Swann with open arms, she made up her mind.

Cutler Beckett would die.